My Hatchling: A Parent's Lament
by JayRain
Summary: The evening before she is to be made a full Chozo Warrior, Samus Aran's adoptive Chozo father watches his Hatchling sleep and laments upon the day she will leave the nest.


My Hatchling: A parent's lament as the child prepares to leave the nest.  
  
By J. Rolande  
  
She grows with every passing day. The Hatchling has come far since the day we found her amid the charred ruins of a devastated colony. She is healthy. Her skin glows from the warmth of the sun, and her muscles are strong and toned. Her endurance is admirable, her determination ethereal. Her mind is sharp and her keen eyes miss nothing. She has grown to be graceful and beautiful, a warrior in a dancer's body. She is everything we imagined she would be, and more.  
  
I gaze upon her as she sleeps, her peaceful face belying the raging warrior she has become. She has no feathers, only long golden hair lightened by the hours spent training under the sun. Dark eyelashes rest on tanned, freckled cheeks. She looks like any other humanchild now, sleeping peacefully. Then again, perhaps the peace is only an illusion; I as well as anyone know a warrior's pulse beats within her. Her heart pounds angry determination, sending the blood of a fighter throughout her body.  
  
Did a warrior's pulse always beat within her? Did rage and discipline always throb in the shadowed hollow in her neck? I wonder if she was born to fight, or if her warrior tendencies are the result of how we Chozo have nurtured her. It is an age-old question, this nature versus nurture, and here, in my precious Hatchling, the argument is embodied.  
  
I wonder often, and I lament. She will have to leave the nest soon, too soon for my liking. She is no longer a Hatchling, though I refer to her as such out of affection. She is a Fledgling now, poised upon the edge, ready to spread her wings and fly. Her brows are furrowed as if in deep concentration, though she sleeps. I smile, a bit sadly, and gently cover her sun-kissed shoulders with a blanket. Not only are the nights getting cooler; but there are only so few fatherly acts I will be able to provide for her in the coming days.  
  
I remember clearly that day I came upon her. We descended upon the ravaged colony of K2-L, fully expecting no signs of life. We had seen Pirate attacks before. The trademark of an attack was always expected, but still difficult to handle. K2-L was no different, until I stumbled upon the humanchild huddled in a row of charred crops. She was weak, and a deep and ugly gash in her back had become infected. She was filthy with blood and ash and tears; she was dehydrated and half starved. But she was alive, posing a most difficult dilemma.  
  
The Chozo had begun to depart these galaxies. Long had the affairs of humans been of little concern to us. Would we be altering the tides of time and prophecy by saving this humanchild? In the end we decided, reluctantly at the time, that it would be a poor example of all the Chozo stood for if we left her to die a lonely, slow death. And as I had been the one to find her, the task came to me to be her caregiver. I believe the human term would be 'father'.  
  
I remember her as a quiet child. She would always observe, then ask questions, and finally speak her mind. Because of this tendency we initially thought she was mute, either by birth or as an effect of the great trauma she had witnessed and survived. Eventually I learned to be patient during her times of quiet observation, trusting that she would speak sooner or later. It was eerie. She would go days without speaking, her intense, wounded gaze seeing all, her mind processing it all. She would train in silence, brow furrowed, jaw clenched, mind deep in thought while the body grew stronger and more lethal. It was worrisome at times; I never fully grew accustomed to it. But then the trance of thought would break; her lovely green eyes would clear, and she would smile. Finally, she would speak.  
  
She still experiences periods of intense observation; I have felt her eyes follow me around the dwelling, and I know she is formulating questions to ask me, questions she cannot answer herself. She has dwelt among the Chozo for nearly eleven years. She has grown from Hatchling girl to Fledgling woman. Tomorrow she comes of age, by the Chozo reckoning. She feels the undercurrents; she knows something intense is in store, but she refuses to ask what it is. Often I have told her she cannot remain among us forever; one day she will have to leave the nest. Sometimes I wonder if I am lecturing her, or merely preparing myself.  
  
What I have not told her is tomorrow she will be outfitted as a Chozo Warrior. Our weaponwrights have used all technology possible to provide the Newborn with the armor of the Warriors, made specifically for her and her alone. No other will be able to replicate the careful technology, and no other will possess the ability to wield or manipulate her weapons. She will be unique, this human raised as a Chozo. She will stand alone; no longer can she rely upon our race to guide her.  
  
I confess I am saddened by this. Time passes; there is no stopping it. It was inevitable that my adopted humanchild would grow. All Hatchlings become Fledglings, and all Fledglings leave the nest. It is the way of things. And yet, as I watch my beloved child sleep, fighting demons real and imaginary as she treks through the secret worlds of her dreams, I wish this day did not have to come. I touch a lock of her hair and listen to the even rhythm of her breathing. Sometimes she snores just a bit, which I find endearing. No one else in our colony knows her the way I do. No one else has watched her sleep peacefully, or held her when her nightmares became too real. No one else has heard the whisper of a snore, or observed the way her dark lashes sometimes flutter against her cheeks, or seen the occasional tear that trickles along the delicate line of her nose. These nights Samus Aran, the Newborn and Great Defender of Chozo prophecies, is mine and mine alone.  
  
Tomorrow I will be there as she is presented with her Power Suit and weaponry. The shamans will tell the Great Lore, and prophecy will be revisited and told anew. The presentation of a new Warrior is always a great deal in our society; but for my Hatchling, the occasion will be far more somber. Not only will she be given the title of Chozo Warrior, but she will also be asked to spread her wings and fly. She has come of age in both the human realm and that of the Chozo, and it is time she go and live among her kind.  
  
I will miss my Hatchling. Even though from the start I knew this day would come it does not make it any easier to know that within a few nights this bed before me will be empty. No more will keen, introspective green eyes follow my every move. I will no longer hear the sound of her breathing peacefully as she sleeps. My nest will be empty.  
  
There are greater things ahead for me and the other Chozo. We will prepare to leave this galaxy, bound for lands untainted and well-preserved. We will ascend to the apex of culture. We will achieve further greatness. And yet, for all the wonderful things I have to look forward to, I have the feeling I will still have an emptiness within me, left from the day my Hatchling learned to fly. 


End file.
